


Sing Your Heart Out

by The_Lady_Crane



Category: Fire Emblem: Soen no Kiseki/Akatsuki no Megami | Fire Emblem Path of Radiance/Radiant Dawn
Genre: Canon Compliant, Emotional, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Missing Scene, Pre-Slash, Religious Content, Singing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:53:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22648957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Lady_Crane/pseuds/The_Lady_Crane
Summary: Soren felt his throat lock up. He wanted desperately to call out to Ike, to tell him that he was here, that he had been searching for so long… But the priest cleared his throat, and Soren realized that he was supposed to start now. He took a deep breath, swallowed his nerves, opened his mouth.And he sang.----Possible scenario for Soren finding the Greil Mercenaries in Crimea.
Relationships: Ike/Senerio | Soren, it's nothing overtly romantic though
Comments: 6
Kudos: 53





	Sing Your Heart Out

**Author's Note:**

> I've been in love with this idea for a while now. I'll be honest, I don't know if someone has already done this. But this is how I head-canon that Soren found Ike after leaving Gallia.
> 
> Also, I am not a religious person, but there's something very beautiful about Gregorian chants and similar music.

The church in the little town of Vinden was not a grand affair. It was old and somewhat musty, made of cold stone that had been worn smooth by the elements and by the comings and goings of the congregation. It was a gray, drab, unassuming little place. But it was here that the boy had found warmth. The people here were kind to him. They didn’t fret over his mark but took him in when he’d had nothing – not even a name for himself.

Soren, they called him. Soren for his severe demeanor, for his somber moods. It seemed fitting. The Mother Superior had given him that name with a smile, and for the first time in many weeks, Soren felt the glow of human kindness once again.

He had no words to tell them for what he was searching – or rather, for whom he was searching. But the town was on a major travel route, he learned, and it was possible that he would find that person here. Most prudently, the people here took care of him, and began to teach him to speak. It would be wise to learn, he thought, and so he stayed. He told himself that it was not out of gratitude to the people here. He would not allow himself to get close to them. He would leave as soon as he found Ike.

Ike was not here, of course. There were others, orphans like Soren, but Ike was not among them. He had been rather disappointed to find this out, but it did nothing to quash his determination. He would keep up the search, keep his eyes and ears open, and one day he would meet the boy again.

The years wore on. He learned to speak quite readily and was soon joining in the services, lighting incense and candles, passing out the collection plate, now and then lending his voice to the chanting of the choir.

“You have such a lovely voice, Soren,” the Mother Superior told him one evening, as he was helping her to sweep the annex. “Why don’t you join up with the choir full-time?”

“No, thank you,” he said, focusing on his task. He hadn’t any interest in singing and had only done it on occasion when one of the other boys was sick.

“Now, you ought to fill your life with something other than magic practice and brooding.” There was laughter in her voice. “There’s a special service to celebrate the coming of spring. I would like for you to sing the opening blessing for us.”

Volunteering for the choir was something he had no interest in, but doing something to help the church… Now, that was a different matter. These people had taught him how to speak. They had given him a name. They never beat him, let him sleep in a comfortable bed, gave him food. At the very least, Soren was not one to bite the hand that fed him. And so, he agreed.

>>><<<

The church was bedecked with wildflowers picked by the orphans on the previous day. They’d had a picnic by the river, but Soren hadn’t joined in. He had stayed alone in the room he shared with the others, practicing. Now he hoped that he wouldn’t botch the whole thing by sneezing. There were so many flowers…

The priest was wearing all white, as usual, and his mantle was bright green with gold and pink embroidery. He only wore it for the celebration of spring, and it was one of the nicest pieces of cloth in his possession. Everything else looked positively drab in comparison. Soren peered beyond the curtain that hid the back room of the sanctuary, taking everything in and feeling that peculiar sensation that always took hold whenever he had to sing during a service. It was like someone had dropped ice down his back. His knees knocked together, and he locked them to keep himself in check.

“Wait until the Father finishes his prayer,” one of the sisters said. “Then go on out and sing, just like we practiced.”

He nodded, wishing that he weren’t such a coward. He knew that these people would not hurt him. They never did. But as the priest’s voice rose in prayer, he couldn’t help brushing at the mark on his forehead, wishing he could hide it.

Soon, it was time. Soren took a deep breath and walked through the curtains. The church was packed today. He couldn’t see them, focused as he was on the floor, but he could hear them, could feel their eyes on him as he made his way to the front of the altar. The priest stepped aside, and Soren took his place, staring down at his feet peeking out from the white cassock that was far too long for him.

Steeling himself, he looked up, hoping that nobody noticed his red eyes or his strange mark. The Father began his introduction, his voice rising above the rafters.

But Soren could barely hear him.

Someone in the congregation had caught his attention.

He stared, feeling like the world was falling away from him slowly. There he was. _There he was._ Spiked blue hair, piercing blue eyes, a face beginning to show some maturity. He was sitting between a man with brown hair and a little girl wearing a bright yellow dress and bonnet. He looked completely and utterly bored, like he’d rather be anywhere but here. Those blue eyes were gazing off to the side.

Soren felt his throat lock up. He wanted desperately to call out to him, to tell him that he was here, that he had been searching for so long… But the priest cleared his throat, and Soren realized that he was supposed to start now. He took a deep breath, swallowed his nerves, opened his mouth.

And he sang.

>>><<<

Ike did not want to be here. He leaned back against the hard pew, shifting uncomfortably. They had only sat down a few minutes ago, and already he could feel his butt going numb. “How long is this going to take?” he asked, leaning towards Greil.

“Shhh.” His father was looking up at the altar, his expression softer than normal, perhaps. There was a faraway look in his eyes. Ike groaned. This was going to be dull.

“Shh, Ike,” Mist echoed Greil, as if she had any authority over him. Ike jabbed at her with his elbow, grinning cheekily when she glared at him.

The priest was saying something about springtime, and how it reflected the promises of the Goddess. Ike wasn’t sure he believed that. True, spring was a wonderful time of year. There were cool streams to splash in, and warm sun to nap in, and plenty of fish to catch. If the Goddess truly was behind this beauty, he thought, why would She want him to stay stuck inside on a grand day like this?

A moment of silence brought Ike’s attention back to his surroundings. It was oddly quiet, like there had been an interruption in the service. He looked up and saw a boy, small and skinny and very pale, standing in front of the altar. Boyd leaned over the back of Ike’s pew, and whispered, “Do you think they’re gonna sacrifice him?”

“Are they?!” Suddenly, he was paying attention. His hand went to his belt, where he’d tucked a small dagger despite his father’s ban on weapons for today. For a swooping moment, he imagined himself jumping to the boy’s defense, fighting off rabid worshippers and becoming a hero at the tender age of twelve. But Boyd was chuckling behind him. He was joking.

Mist turned to glare at Boyd. But before she could say anything, a voice rose up over the silence. She snapped her mouth shut and turned around again, her arms crossed.

Ike had stopped listening to Boyd’s quiet laughter. The boy at the altar was saying something – or was he singing? His voice was so soft and pure, it was hard to tell. As he continued, though, it rose in volume, capturing Ike’s attention like a hand lifting his chin.

It was a lilting melody, indistinct but smooth, sung in a high, clear voice that made Ike’s arms break out in goosebumps. He stared at the pale figure, watching long, dark hair sway in the breeze coming in from the open windows. It took a moment for Ike to realize that the boy was looking at him, too. There was no mistaking that steady gaze, focused entirely on Ike. He swallowed, finding his mouth suddenly dry. It was as if the boy’s song was meant just for him.

Indeed, the song was meant for Ike. Soren was pouring his heart into it, allowing his emotions to flow freely, feeling his soul expanding and filling his entire body. He sang of the Goddess and Her wonders, all in the ancient tongue, but his admiration was for Ike alone.

All of his longing, all of his hope, he put into the song. It rose up and dipped down, like a bird’s warbling, clear as a bell and endless as the sky. Gratitude, fear, and despair were all woven together in a musical tapestry. He sang of joy, of a promise that he would never forget. He sang of silver meadows and golden sunrise, of loneliness and comfort. He sang until there were tears in his eyes, his hands held over his heart, his body leaning ever so slightly towards the boy who had given him everything.

By the time the song was over, there was a great sigh throughout the congregation. Mist was wiping tears from her cheeks. Ike stared, dumbstruck, his mouth slightly open, as the boy’s lips closed once more. There was a final glance, a lingering stare, the glint of ruby as the boy bowed his head and let the priest step in front of him.

“The Goddess showers us with Her blessings,” the priest said, and for once, Ike had to agree. He watched as the boy quietly shuffled out of sight, disappearing through the curtains once more.

>>><<<

Soren found him after the service. He was leaning against the maple tree on the front lawn, while the little girl ran around him and the man chatted with some of the villagers. He looked up as Soren approached, and for a moment, recognition lit up his features.

“Hi,” he said, and Soren felt himself dying the most exquisite death. He could barely remember how to return the greeting.

“H- hello.”

“I heard you sing in there,” Ike said, gesturing with a nod to the church. “You were really good.”

“Thank you.”

They stared at each other, both unsure what to do now. Before Soren could ask whether he remembered, though, the taller boy extended his hand with a smile. “I’m Ike. What’s your name?”

Reaching for it, holding onto that familiar warmth, Soren took his hand. “I’m… I’m Soren.”

“Soren. Nice to meet you.” There was kindness in his smile, and Soren felt his knees wobble. He blinked hard, willing the tears to remain hidden.

“I… I haven’t seen you here before.”

“No, we just settled nearby,” Ike said, pointing away over the river, towards the forest. “My dad’s the leader of a mercenary company. We’re here to keep the bandits away, and stuff like that.”

“Oh.” It was all he could say. He had never heard of a ‘mercenary’ before, but it sounded like they were fighting to protect people, and that fit his image of Ike so well.

“Ike, Mist, let’s get a move on,” the man called, and Ike gave another smile.

“I have to go. See you around, Soren.”

Soren would have given anything to be able to follow Ike. Watching him leave was like losing his lungs. He wanted so badly to walk forward. But not yet, he thought. He could find out where they were staying, and then he would go to see them. Perhaps he could convince the Mother Superior to allow him to go collecting for the church. Then, he could somehow find a way to spend more time with Ike. Somehow…

“Soren, that was wonderful,” the sister said, and he followed her inside as she talked about the compliments she had received on his behalf. He was hardly listening, though. He had plans to make, ideas to nurture. Someday, he would tell Ike directly. He would walk up to him and boldly tell him how grateful he was, how Ike had given him his life back.

He began the cleanup, his heart already aflame.


End file.
